


The Four Elements

by bazaar



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazaar/pseuds/bazaar
Summary: She's been lonely for a very long time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this... hotel AU? I don't know what to call it.

She never asks for the penthouse, but she always gets it.

The receptionist is always a young man between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Young enough to do the job, and also young enough to have a very loose grip on the meaning of "customer service." He always gets flustered when her name meets his ears. His eyes (often green, or the occasional gold, but blue this time) widen and he tugs on his collar, smiles like there's a gun pointed to his head. His hands always shake as he jots a few words down.

And then: "Ms. Sato! We'll have you moved to the penthouse right away."

He always grabs as many of her bags as he can handle, and enlists the help of another young man like himself to carry the rest, no matter how many times she tells them that she can manage.

They always take the service elevator because she always overpacks, and one of the young men will always open her door with a foot or an elbow or once, a head, and they'll struggle not to drop her things as they enter the room. The room, which is less of a room and more of an entire floor.

She always tips them—more money than they've ever seen in one place—and afterwards, she's always left alone.

This time, her view is that of the entire Northern Water Tribe; vast and pristine, all vibrant blues and bright whites. It's breathtaking in every sense of the word. She's stayed at every other iteration of the Four Elements, which explains the special treatment. Also, the employees tend to have a decent idea of the correlation between her last name and her bank accounts. She could buy the entire chain of hotels if she cared to.

She doesn't care to.

In Ba Sing Se, the penthouse is all greens and golds. The Earth Kingdom emblem is emblazoned on every piece of furniture, every wall, every fixture. The bedposts have intricate badgermoles carved into them, fittingly encrusted in gold. She's familiar enough with the city to know that the smell that permeates the hotel as a whole—it's that _Upper Ring smell._ Thanks to the dissolving of the monarchy, none of the rooms sport the late Earth Queen's visage any longer, which makes her stays more pleasant than they've been in previous years. Having a very severe-looking woman watch her while she sleeps? Nightmare fuel.

In Capital City everything is red and black, a color scheme that Asami appreciates, but pictures of the Fire Lord adorn a wall in every room, which she does not. When she visits, she always wonders if the woman would approve of having her face plastered around a hotel. If she knew, of course. Asami figures she wouldn't. Not when her counterpart in the Earth Kingdom has been scrapped faster than yesterday's news. Fire Lord Izumi is far removed from her ancestors, and even further from ex-queen Hou-Ting's stuffy ass.

The Four Elements in Republic City doesn't seem to have a theme in its penthouse, but Asami's never spent more than a few moments in the room, for meetings with business magnates and the like. She lives in the city—staying in a hotel is just a little redundant.

As opposed to her location at the present moment, the Southern Water Tribe has yet to welcome a massive chain hotel into her frigid arms. Asami prays it'll stay that way. The north has always been larger and more industrialized, and the new addition of a Four Elements hasn't done as much for tourism as many had hoped.

She surveys the room. White and blue, like the rest of the city, but with much more humble decor than the penthouses of the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation. It resembles a hunter's lodge in many ways, with dozens of pelts and polished ivory. There's a large kitchen with teak wood counters and silver lining, and an even larger common area, leading into a bedroom that could house an entire battalion.

 _All of this for one person,_ she thinks, and doesn't enjoy the thought. _Always for one person._

She puts her things away in dressers and closets that can accommodate much more than she’s brought, much more than she needs for her week in the north. Enough space for another person, maybe even an entire family.

She pushes the empty spaces closed and, as always, settles down for the night.

 

* * *

 

Counting koala sheep is futile.

Asami sighs, exhaling every last breath from her lungs; long and drawn-out and weary. She pushes herself upright to check the alarm clock, and wishes she hadn't. In four hours she'll have to be pristine, ready for polite conversation and fake smiles and other mundane business that will turn her gray in a hurry.

That all being said, she still can't sleep.

Efficiency and productivity are two things Asami Sato is known for. If she can't sleep then she'll be damned if she lets insomnia get in the way of work.

She heaves herself out of bed. Her proposals are in a briefcase near the nightstand, and she pulls them out to begin scanning for errors—and, as always, they're just about perfect.

She's met with Varrick before, back in the city, and she knows the man will end up lighting her hard work on fire or tossing it in the ocean or… she doesn't want to think about where or how her papers will meet their demise.

She can't find anything to revise, anything to add, anything to _do._ She sets the papers aside, leans against the headboard that looks like it's come straight from the hull of a Water Tribe cutter, and tries again to relax herself. This time, she forgets about the koala sheep.

Her days bring the kinds of distractions she needs from her deeper thoughts. From dawn until dusk it's all mechanisms and finances—practical things, things she has a strong grip on, and a sense of control. She gets to interact with employees and business partners and the like, and even though the majority of conversations are like watching paint dry, it’s something, at the very least.

At night, she's alone. She's been alone for a while, longer than she cares to admit. When she gets the chance to think about it, like now, leaning against her oversized headboard in a bed made for two, there's the gnawing idea that it might be like this forever. That she's too committed to her company and her work to find time for herself. That while her wallet will fill, and her company will expand, the yawning void in her chest will remain empty. That she'll spend the rest of her life traveling from hotel to hotel, penthouse to penthouse, wondering where else she can go from the top, and sleeping alone.

She hates feeling sorry for herself, but the minibar is always open. Rising again, she pours herself a glass of trusty Fire Nation baijiu. It's a relic of younger days, and of happier times. She sits back up against the headboard and closes her eyes, takes a long draw from the glass and just lets herself sink into her surroundings.

_It is what it is._

 

* * *

 

Meeting with Varrick proves to be uneventful. Uneventful in the sense that she knows most of his quirks and gimmicks, and the ones that she doesn't are easy enough to plan for. The way Zhu Li's eyebrow twitches right before he does something stupid often ruins the surprise.

She's driving back to the hotel afterwards, a manila envelope with the details of their new partnership in hand. All signed and finalized by Zhu Li if the thin, immaculate handwriting is any indication. She’s seen Varrick’s illegible scrawl, and it’s definitely not the handwriting on her _vitally important_ documents. The edges are singed, thanks either to the flamethrower prototype or the self-lighting oil lamp; " _Who needs firebenders when you've got science!_ " and both of her sleeves have holes in them, maybe also from one of said contraptions, or maybe from the "Airbender Finder" that had been presented with much fanfare and promptly blown up in her face. Not the intended use, but her battered sleeves don't know that.

The valet is waiting for her, as always, and the front door is opened for her, as always, and there's a new guy at the reception desk, but he's as young and nervous as the last one. As always. She’s not sure why the Four Elements seems to hire the same type of employee for every one of their reception desks, across oceans and on opposite sides of the world—they’re always the same.

She takes the regular elevator up to her floor. When she arrives, the living area is still empty and devoid of life, and Asami decides then and there that she won't be spending another night moping around and taking shots in bed. She's twenty-three and she's not old or stupid enough to become an alcoholic by choice. Maybe she's lonely enough, but that's something she has a little more control over.

She walks to the closet, rummaging around before pulling out one of her favorite red dresses. Nothing too formal, just something for a comfortable evening out. She touches up her makeup and all but runs out of the penthouse, desperate to leave the cavernous space.

Once in the lobby, she's struck with the realization that she's been to the Northern Water Tribe twice, that she has no idea where anything is, and also that the city is large enough to get lost in. The receptionist is gone, which is out of the norm for her Four Elements experience, and there's only one other person in the lobby—a maintenance worker. He's tightening a fixture behind the massive waterfall has to be the largest centerpiece she's ever seen in a hotel. She'd noticed it yesterday, but now she has time to admire it. Waterfalls seem to be a theme in the Water Tribes… which makes a whole lot of sense, but they're a little (a lot) overused.

"Excuse me," she calls, walking towards the man.

He looks up from his work, still hunched over, and scowls at her. He reminds Asami of a villain from one of Varrick's ridiculous movers. It's all kinds of off-putting. She dismisses herself without another word, which might be a little rude, but she's gone before she thinks to say anything else.

Past the main area there's a bar, and while she hadn't wanted to spend another evening drinking, she hadn't been opposed to the idea either. She's not drinking in bed this time, and _that_ is a step in the right direction. Maybe not the _right_ direction, more like _a_ direction.

The bar is elegant but simple, and it looks like the one thing Asami can appreciate about this particular Four Elements is the theme—it's much more coherent than its sisters. The penthouses of the other hotels are frivolous and posh, while the rest of the floors are much more modest. Here, the bar is a light teak wood, and it matches the countertops in her room, complete with accents of silver and white. The only person around is the bartender, a woman whose back is facing her. She looks like she's cleaning a glass, dark blue sleeves rolled up the length of her forearms, and she's humming a tune Asami recognizes as a Southern Water Tribe lullaby. It's traditional, but popular in the city. A strange contrast to the fast-paced jazz found on every street corner.

She sits at the bar, still going unnoticed by the other woman. " _The Warrior's Daughter_ , right?"

The woman jumps a little, but spins around and smacks Asami right in the face. With her looks, not with her hand. And if Asami didn't have a thing for Water Tribe women before, she does now.

Republic City is diverse enough to meet a wide array of people. She's met people from every corner of the world, and that includes both tribes. But never, never in all her life has she been this _drawn_ to someone from the tundra.

"Shi—sorry! I didn't hear you come in." She grins, and it's a little crooked, a little sheepish, and a lot adorable. "But uh, yeah. It's pretty popular tune down south."

"In Republic City too, strangely enough," says Asami with a small smile. "The south, huh?"

Her grin takes on a certain sense of pride, blue eyes sparkling. They remind Asami of the sea she'd sailed to get to the north. "Born and raised. If you're just here to visit, I'd recommend doing a one-eighty and heading there. Oh, and um, what can I get you?"

Asami laughs. This girl is too cute for her own good, but she can't complain. "I'm not sure. Any recommendations? Other than traveling to the other side of the world, that is."

"Well," she begins, her eyebrows raise a little, and she clasps her hands together like she's about to say something very, very important. "This place likes to pride itself on authenticity. Northern spirits and the like. But, I know a guy, who knows a… -nother guy, I think, who brings the good stuff up from back home." She reaches under the bar, pulls out a dusty blue bottle that looks like it's seen the founding of the tribes. She leans in, and in a conspiratorial whisper, "Pardon my language, but this stuff—this is the _shit._ "

"How could I turn down _that_ offer?” Asami says with a smirk, and the other woman's face brightens, which is a wonderful thing to behold. She reaches under the bar again, this time pulling out two shot glasses. She places them on the bar and uncorks the bottle. Making a swift movement with her hand, she manipulates the clear liquid so it ejects itself from the bottle in a smooth stream, and courses in a spiral through the air. It lands in the glasses, stationary, as if it had never been moved. Asami whistles lowly. "A waterbending bartender. I'd imagine you get some pretty good tips."

The woman scoffs. "Maybe if I worked in the _desert_. Most of the bartenders around here are waterbenders. It's almost a requirement."

"Seems a little gimmicky. No offense."

"Believe me, none taken. The tricks some assholes pull… Hey, don't get me started." She lifts her glass up. "Ever had southern rum before?"

Asami shakes her head.

The bartender grins, and while the expression is still cute, this time it's laced with just enough mischievousness to be worrying. "Consider yourself warned."

 

* * *

 

Satos can hold their liquor.

To properly qualify that statement: Asami _thinks_ that Satos can hold their liquor.

On her nineteenth birthday, she'd been disappointed at the lack of new age-based things to do, and her father had seen her melancholy and challenged her to a drinking contest. He'd said that it was a rite of passage, that every Sato in the history of ever had drank with their elders on their nineteenth birthday. She'd never heard of the tradition, but her father had insisted and she’d gotten blind drunk and woken up in the bathtub the next morning. It was stupid and irresponsible, but it's a memory she still treasures.

Ever since then, she's built up a tolerance. As a woman in a field full of men, she'd had to hold her own from the get-go. Back in the city, she can drink every other business mogul under the table. She knows this because she's done it.

Asami has deduced after several glasses, that southern rum is not liquor. At least, not the liquor she's used to.

There are about four of the bartender—a woman she now knows as Korra—in front of her, and she's not sure of how much she's had until she sees a blurry hand wrap around her shot glass.

"Okay, I'm making an executive decision here. You're cut off."

"Pffft, 'm fine," Asami slurs, grabbing blindly at her glass. "Gimme."

"You are the opposite of fine, Asami. You're a little green, you're swaying, and I'm kind of afraid you're going to fall over."

"Commere 'n help me Korr _aaa,_ " she coos, seizes the bartender's hand and starts messing with her fingers. How many fingers are people supposed to have—forty?

Asami thinks she sees Korra smile, but she can't make out the other woman's face. It's a tragedy, because Korra's face is very attractive and at the present moment it resembles a blurry coconut. "I'll get you back to your room. What's the number?"

"Mmm…" She has no clue. "'S big."

"It's big? Like, a double?" She tries to shake her head, and almost collapses. Korra reaches over the bar and grabs her shoulders before she can tip over, which she's grateful for, because the floor below her stool looks like it's several stories down. "Woah there! Just—stay upright for like, a second. I'm gonna come around."

She doesn't quite have the capacity to watch as Korra rounds the bar, but soon enough, she's helping Asami off of her stool and on to the floor. She wobbles like she's learning how to walk, and her heels were a bad idea, but Korra wraps an arm around her shoulders and places her free hand on her upper arm.

"Warm," Asami mumbles, because Korra is radiating some very comfortable heat, and leans what has to be most of her weight on the struggling woman. Korra is comfortable. Warm and comfortable, while wonderful things, are not helping the pair get anywhere.

"Okay," Korra grunts, handling her weight with ease, and maneuvering her into a standing position. "You're gonna have to work with me here— _shit!_ "

She feels arms wrapping around her before she blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, but please enjoy!

There are marbles in her head. Not the metaphorical, "lost your marbles" kind, but real glass marbles, rolling around and knocking on the inside of her skull.

She feels like she's going to die. Never in her twenty-three years has she been _this_ hungover. When she tries to sit up, her stomach does several nauseating flips, twisting and turning and rolling over. She's tangled in the bedsheets, trying to get out of the fabric that is intent on restricting her because the sheets are silk and she doesn't want to get sick on something this expensive.

The bathroom is twenty feet too far away, but she manages to make the journey without ruining any of the upholstery. A feat she's very proud of.

As it happens, the porcelain rim of a toilet is a good place for contemplation.

The previous nights' events are fuzzy around the edges, but she can remember leaving her room and heading downstairs. After that… she's not sure. It's disturbing on many different levels, but she woke up in her own room at least. How had she managed to get back?

Once she's capable of leaving the toilet without too much fanfare, she cleans herself up as best she can. A long shower and thorough tooth-brushing do wonders.

It's been a good few years since she's had a hangover even _close_ to the monster she's nursing now. She shuffles to the kitchen, determined to drink her weight in water.

As her body replaces the massive amount of fluids she's lost, she leans against the teak wood counter. The fuzz that's settled over her memory begins to clear with each gulp of what has to be some sort of Water Tribe spirit water. It's more refreshing than any drink she's ever had in her entire life, and while it could be spirit water, it also could be normal water and she's just dangerously dehydrated. The latter seems more logical, because Asami figures they wouldn't pump spirit water through the tap.

The pieces begin to fit together. She'd gone to the bar last night, that much is clear. She'd ordered… oh spirits, what _had_ she ordered, rubbing alcohol? No, something far worse, if her throbbing head is any indicator.

Her stomach rumbles, as if reminding her that she's lost more than fluids. With all of the effort she can manage she calls room service, asks for plain toast and bananas. As it happens, they don't have bananas in the Northern Water Tribe. They have something called a sea kumquat, and at this point, with her stomach growling at her and her head doing backflips, she couldn't care less.

She's sure that she looks like she's contracted several diseases at once, and she's wearing what has to be the rattiest shirt she owns, (because Asami Sato doesn't _do_ ratty) but whoever brings her breakfast is just going to have to handle the zombie that answers the door. She's not changing, she's not putting on any makeup, she's standing right by the door until she hears a knock.

_Knock, knock._

There it is.

"Room service," a muffled woman's voice comes through the front door.

She's positioned herself so she won't collapse on her way to answer the door, and when she opens it, she almost heaves. Again.

Whatever fog had covered her memory has now dissipated because the woman that is standing in the doorway with toast and fruit is the same woman who'd no doubt dragged her lifeless body back to the penthouse last night.

"Oh no," she says, and it sounds more like a groan which is not helping any chances she'd had with the bartender. Not that she has any left after last night, that is.

The woman, instead of yelling or smacking Asami across the face like she expects, laughs. "I was relieved when I heard you'd called down. I wasn't sure if you'd stopped breathing last night."

"I…" She doesn't have any words. Her head is still throbbing and her stomach makes a noise like it's being rung out like a towel, but this woman, her saving grace— _Korra_ , is still standing with her food, smiling and looking just as welcoming as she had last night. Asami figures she should bury herself in the snow outside to save time because this fuck up overshadows every single one of her prior fuck ups.

"Do you want your food?" Korra asks, and it takes a long second before Asami can respond.

"Yeah. Yeah, um… come in?"

Korra grins and steps over the threshold. She whistles, low and impressed. "Wow, this place is _huge._ I’d never been up here before last night. Looks a lot bigger in the daytime,” she says, setting the tray down on the kitchen counter. "They only let the fancy assholes past the fifteenth floor."

"Why are you here then?" Asami asks, regaining her voice just in time to shove her foot in her mouth.

"I'm a fancy asshole today," she responds with a crooked grin, and Asami has to stop herself from sighing in relief. Korra's not offended, and it doesn't seem she's easy to offend, anyway. "Also, you know, I wanted to make sure you were, uh… _alive._ "

"Oh," is all she can manage. If her nausea hadn't drained the blood from her face, she's sure she'd be blushing. She watches as Korra takes in the penthouse, looking like a kid in a toy store.

"So… is there anything else you need from this fancy asshole?" Korra asks, now looking right at Asami with those deep blue eyes. It makes her stomach flutter in a very different way, in a way that doesn't make her want to throw up. "I made some five-flavor soup for you, too. Best hangover cure in the south."

"You made me soup?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal," she says, drumming her fingers on the counter. She suddenly looks uncomfortable, which doesn't make too much sense. _She_ didn't almost throw up on anyone last night. "My mom's recipe is super easy. I figured you could use it, what with how you were last night."

She feels heat rising in her cheeks at the memory. The nausea doesn't help this time. "Look, Korra, this is all very thoughtful, but—"

"Too much?"

"No!" Asami yelps. It's quick enough to startle Korra. Shit. "Sorry, _no._ I just wanted to apologize for last night. I can handle my alcohol for the most part and I don't… well, _black out._ "

Korra looks relieved. Asami isn't exactly sure why. How could anyone be _upset_ at this kind of thoughtfulness? "Hey, you'd never had southern rum before. I'm surprised you managed as much as you did. Besides, you're not heavy at all."

Asami blanches. This part of the evening hasn't returned to her memory. "Did you…"

While Asami feels as is she's just been run over by a freight train, Korra seems to be unfazed by her declaration. "Carry you up here? Yeah, you kinda couldn't make it back on your own. I'm sorry if you had to sleep funny. I propped you up so you wouldn't…" She grimaces. "Well you're alive today, so I guess it was a good idea."

Since everything that could ever go wrong has gone wrong, Asami figures that she should sit down before she falls down. She plops down on the couch, and the motion rattles her skull. It's only after the pain has bubbled down into something manageable that she realizes she's not wearing pants, just a pair of multicolored panties with polka dots on them. The long shirt had covered them when she'd been standing, but now it's riding up and, well… not _everything_ had gone wrong just yet, and now it has.

Asami grabs an oversized pillow from the couch and screams into it.

"Uh… you okay?"

Right, Korra's still standing over by the now cold toast, looking equal parts amused and confused.

"No," Asami sighs, setting the pillow in her lap. "I think I'm going to embarrass myself into a coma."

Korra waves her off. "What's embarrassing? You got plastered, so what? That's like, every Saturday for me. And I don't have awesome hotel staff to carry me back home—I sleep wherever I fall down."

Asami snorts, which isn't very attractive, but at this point she can't get any worse. The snort turns into full on laughter, and she's burying her face in her hands, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. When she recovers she looks up and Korra's grinning from ear to ear. While Asami would like to think she's strong enough to not melt at that face, she's mistaken. It warms her right to her core.

"I need to make this up to you, Korra. You've been so sweet and if you're doing all this for tips, trust me, you're making bank today."

Korra laughs. "No worries," she says, and then seems to think better of her statement. "But I mean… if you're bored, you could always swing by the bar again. No one really shows up during the week. Being around hundreds of gallons of alcohol is, believe it or not, pretty boring."

Asami smiles. Even after everything that's just happened, every social faux pas she's managed to commit, Korra's still standing by the kitchen, still smiling, asking for her company.

"I'd love to. Just… keep the hard liquor away from me this time, please?"

 

* * *

 

When she's sentient enough to act like a human being, the sun is setting.

From her window, she gets a great view of it, rich purples and oranges thrown across the once bleak northern sky. She's always preferred sunsets to sunrises. She hates waking up early, even though she does it often and without prompting.

She's sitting on the couch, sifting through paperwork one of Varrick's assistants had been so kind as to bring to her room smack dab in the middle of her day off. It's the last thing she wants to be doing when there's an open invitation waiting for her downstairs. An open invitation with gorgeous blue eyes and toned forearms and strong hands and smooth brown skin…

"Uhg," Asami grunts as her pen clatters to the floor, along with several papers and all of her thoughts. She retrieves the items, but her pen ends up between her teeth and her papers on the couch beside her and she can't help the fact that she's daydreaming again.

For as long as she can remember, she'd found both sexes attractive. However, her support system in this had been less of a foundation and more of a sandbox filled with broken glass.

Her father, while a calm, supportive parent on most days, could go downright insane on others. She'd been eight, watching him fix a motorbike in the garage, fascinated but distracted as most eight-year-olds tend to be.

There was a girl at school, pretty and fair, and Asami had been enamored. After her mother's death, she'd begun sharing new things with her father, trying anything she could think of to forge a connection like the one she'd lost with her mother. Always about school or engines or matters that didn't involve her heart. When she'd broached the subject; _"Daddy, there's a new girl in my class. She's very pretty and smart. I like her a lot!"_

He'd lost it. He'd yelled and thrown things and told her that she was wrong and a disappointment and Asami had cried until her chest felt like it had caved in and after that, she'd never mentioned it again.

Traumatic as it had been, she'd never stopped liking other women. It wasn't something that her father could scare her out of. She'd spent most of college trying to widen her horizons, to find like-minded individuals. However, she'd always felt a nagging in the back of her mind. She'd get close to another woman, closer than comfort should allow, and would have to pull away. Even though their relationship had healed (albeit superficially) as she'd grown older, Asami still wondered if her father's actions when she was young had effected her in some subconscious, retroactive way.

She sighs, pushes herself off of the couch. It's night now, and the papers can wait.

 

* * *

 

"Hey! I was worried you wouldn't come." Korra's behind the bar, in the exact same position, wearing the same outfit as the previous night, and the smile that breaks across her face when she catches Asami's eye is almost too much to handle.

"I don't think I could have passed up the invitation," she says, and sits down on the stool in front of Korra. "Besides, I owe you my left arm, at least."

Korra gives an exaggerated hum, tapping her chin with her finger. "I've always wanted two left arms. I'm ambidextrous, just think of the possibilities!"

“Wow, Korra. _Infinite._ "

Korra's smiles are the definition of infectious. "So, you're feeling better? How'd you like the five-flavor soup?"

She'd eaten the entire thing, and she tells Korra as much. Her face lights up, and she launches into a story about the first time she'd gotten drunk at a friend's house. Imagining a sixteen year old version of the woman standing in front of her—falling over herself, is nothing if not hilarious. According to Korra, the morning after is how she'd discovered the elixir that is five-flavor soup. Her father had laughed at her when she'd emerged from her bedroom, hungover. Korra tells the whole thing as if it'd been a walk in the park, but the effects of heavy drinking are fresh in Asami's mind and Korra's ordeal, however laughable, still sounds awful.

They're in the middle of exchanging stories of their past escapades when a crowd of older men, clad in business suits, round the corner into the bar. With what looks like a substantial amount of effort, Korra tears her eyes away from Asami, and her expression falls.

"I forgot it was Wednesday," Korra grumbles, frowning at the new patrons. "You might want to get out of here before they get too far gone."

"A round of shots!" One of the heavier men yells, and his colleagues cheer. They look a little old to be doing shots, but Asami's dealt with men like these. Rich, powerful executives with money to blow and wives to neglect.

Korra gives her an apologetic look. "I can try to get them out before the crack of dawn, but…" She frowns as the men begin filing in, plopping down on the barstools, looking like they'll be going nowhere fast. "They tend not to listen. Sorry."

"It's all right," she says, placing a hand atop one of the other woman's. Her hand is warm and soft and strong and it will take an exorbitant amount of effort for Asami to pry herself away. "I'll come by tomorrow night. Have a double, on me. It looks like you'll need it tonight."

"Who's your friend there?" the large man calls, interrupting again. He tosses a wink at Asami who tries not to hurl. She's had enough nausea for one day.

"She's just about to leave, Mr. Iqaluk. I'll get your whiskeys right now."

"Nonsense!" He thumps his fist on the bar, and it rattles the empty glasses stacked before him. "She can have a drink on us. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Asami frowns. If there's one thing Asami cannot _stand_ , it's "sweetheart." She's been called sweetheart by every single businessman she's bought out or drank under the table. She's destroyed those men, she might as well keep her reputation up.

She stands, collecting her things. She has a look that's reserved for business meetings, one she acquired from her father. The heavy-set man's smile wavers.

"Asami Sato, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me, I have some work to do that doesn't involve getting drunk on a Wednesday night."

The rest of the men go silent. So does Korra.

"Sato?" she asks weakly.

Asami winks, and for once, she's managed to pull together some kind of composure around the other woman. "See you tomorrow, Korra."


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes this time, refreshed and _not_ hungover.

The day ahead is nothing but meetings with Varrick's men, tours of his factories and ships, demonstrations of his new inventions. All things Asami couldn't care less for, but she'll have to put on a brave face. Varrick may have strange methods for finalizing his deals, but at the end of the day he and his company are Future Industries' best friend. Whether Asami likes it or not.

Halfway through the fourth meeting, she's doodling in the margins of her legal pad, calculating the amount of blasting jelly it would take to propel her from the conference room to her penthouse at the Four Elements. The problem is, it would require a lot. She has none. Also the explosion might kill her. _Would_ kill her.

Two of Varrick's men are in deep conversation, and the other three are interjecting, and Asami can't manage a word in edgewise, so she pretends to sift through paperwork while they bicker. She's spent hours on end reviewing the work and could recite it all by memory, if given the opportunity. Instead of reviewing, she ends up daydreaming again, not even attempting to shoo away the blue eyes that invade her thoughts.

As soon as she'd made it back to her room the night before, she'd collapsed against the door and heaved a sigh like she'd ran a marathon. Maybe she'd been a little too dramatic, but the _ten seconds_ her own hand had been in contact with Korra's had threatened to destroy her sanity. It wasn't as if she'd never touched another woman's hand before. But she'd never before felt these sparks, like someone had dumped sparkling water into her chest.

 _Water_ , she thinks as she gazes out of one of the windows of Varrick's skyscraper, would be appropriate in this context. She's known other waterbenders, known them beyond a simple touch. Water is malleable, it flows, it makes its way into everywhere it can fill. She knows this from experience. She also knows that waterbenders tend to be good with their hands.

She's good with her hands, too. She'd had to remind herself of this several times before sleep took her. When it had, she'd dreamt of the sea.

"…do you think, Ms. Sato?"

Asami blinks the daydream away. "I'm sorry Mr. Zhang, could you repeat that?"

The man who's only now decided to involve her in the conversation, frowns. "I asked if you'd found the revisions to be helpful. If these crucial meetings are not to your liking, I'm sure we could always take the offer off of the table."

The other men slink down in their chairs. It looks like they have a little more sense than this man. "I'm sure Varrick would love to hear just how pleasant his men have been to work with," she says, matching the man's tone. She doesn't have to glare long for him to back down.

"Ms. Sato, I—"

"Don't. I've spent the better half of a day going in circles. You'd like to read over the paperwork again? Feel free, it's been revised twelve times today," she says, and moves to gather her things before sliding the manila envelope with her copies of the documents across the table. "If you have any issues— _major_ issues—call me. Otherwise, have a pleasant day."

Once she's left the conference room, she can't help but smile to herself. Of course, she'd been annoyed, she hadn't been faking that, but if she'd been in any other situation, in any other conference room, she might have stayed. Not this time. Her body has spent the day in meetings, but her mind has been elsewhere.

When she's on the road, heading back to the Four Elements, she laughs. The snow-white structures of the north pass her by as she whizzes through the streets, taking time to test the suspension, the pickup, the traction her prototype Satomobile can manage. It isn't designed for the icy roads of the north, but that's an easy fix. One of the perks of owning a company: she get to bring her cars along on business trips.

She pulls up to the hotel, tips the valet, and grabs her notepad to jot down some notes. There are always structural issues on prototypes, always something to improve. She marks these things down, letting her feet carry her on a familiar route. She doesn't notice if there's a different young man at the receptionist's desk, doesn't notice if there's another disgruntled maintenance worker at the waterfall again, just continues her notes until she's walking into the bar. She tears her eyes away from her pad, searching for—

"Hello there, what can I get you?" 

She stumbles to a halt. There's an older woman working tonight. She has the complexion of a tribeswoman; the blue eyes, the dark skin. Her hair, however, is long and grey and she looks far older than the woman Asami had expected. "Oh, um, hello," she says haltingly, then orders, not wanting to come across as brash or rude. "The house wine, please." She sits at the bar while the woman fetches her order.

The woman places the filled glass in front of Asami, dark liquid swishing around. "I take it you were looking for someone else."

Had she been that obvious? "Well… yes. You wouldn't happen to know where Korra is, would you? She said she'd be working tonight."

The woman smiles, a little too knowing for Asami's tastes. "Ah," she says languidly, lets her mouth hang open with a smirk like she's uncovered some great truth, "you must be Asami."

She chokes on her wine.

"Korra's home taking care of her polar bear dog," she continues, ignoring the way Asami has to wipe at her chin to stem the dribble of wine. "She's got the flu, poor thing. Asked me to cover her shift and gave me a message."

Asami finishes wiping the wine away, intrigued. "A message?"

The woman clears her throat and places a hand on her chest, as if she's about to make an important decree. It's from Korra, so Asami figures it should be important. "She wanted to say that she's sorry she couldn't see you today, but that she had a wonderful time last night—don't worry, I didn't ask—and she'll make it up to you."

Her face is now several degrees hotter than the rest of her body. Whatever this woman is inferring, whatever she _thinks_ might have happened… Would have been nice, yes, but hasn't happened. "Who—" Asami begins, and can't seem to collect her thoughts. "Are you her…?"

"Mother? Hah! No, no, her mother's still down south. I'm just a friend of the family," she laughs before sticking her hand out. Asami shakes it, still gaping like an idiot. "Kya."

It's all a little overwhelming. Korra had mentioned her to a family friend? Asami can't quite figure out how to process that information. Still, this woman thinks that she and Korra have been cavorting around in the short time she's known the other woman. While the thought is one she'd like to ruminate on in the future, she'd rather not have a woman she doesn't know from Yangchen implying things about a relationship that doesn't, at the present moment, exist.

"It's lovely to meet you," she says, gaining some semblance of her composure. "I know what it must sound like, but Korra and I… we aren't—"

"Oh, _psh_ ," Kya waves her off. "I couldn't care less, honey. Your business is your business," she says with a grin, and Asami can't help but see a little of Korra in it. "They might be stuffy assholes up here, but down south, there's free love. Always has been."

Asami's starting to think she should avoid the northern tribe in any and all of her future endeavors. "You and Korra seem pretty partial to the south."

"We're both southerners, what would you expect?" Kya says, and then frowns as if remembering something unpleasant. She leans her elbows against the bar, uses her index finger to punctuate her words. "Up here, people don't understand. They think cactus juice is bad for you, that herbal medicine doesn't work, that a women can't be with women, men can't be with men. Let me tell you, Asami. If you're here for business, make sure you _never_ have to come back."

"Why are you and Korra here then?"

The fire in Kya's eyes dies down. "My mother," she sighs, her expression softening. "She's not a spring possum chicken anymore."

"You're her caretaker?"

"Yes and no. She's working with the other healers in the city, teaching them what she knows. Northern styles are very different from ours. Most benders up here wouldn't know a proper phase change if they got impaled."

Asami's not a bender, but she's always been intrigued by the elements. The power of fire, the stability of earth, the freedom of air, and of course, the flow of water. If she'd been born with the gift, she thinks she'd like earthbending, and by greater extension, metalbending, if for nothing else but its application to molding machines. Kya seems proud, just like Korra. Asami doesn't mention her preference.

"How did Korra get involved?" she asks, sipping her wine.

Kya hums, and it feels more nostalgic than pensive. "Mom taught her how to bend," she lets out a bark of laughter, "you should have seen her—six years old and already driving her own mother up the wall! If I remember right, she froze the front door shut once and couldn't fix it until her parents came home."

The image is both hilarious and adorable. Asami chuckles. "Must have been a handful."

"You have _no_ idea."

Kya is a pleasant conversation partner. She has many of the same mannerisms as Korra, and although Asami hasn't known many southerners, it's easy enough to realize that the candor is southern, through and through.

She gets little glimpses into Korra's life through Kya. Asami could guess that Korra wouldn't be too pleased that a family friend is sharing more personal stories with a woman she's just met, but over-sharing must be just another southern trait. The way Kya tells the stories, it's as if she's an older sister rather than a mother figure to Korra. She pokes fun at Korra's past missteps and embarrassments, but it's all in good fun. It's obvious she cares for the other woman, and looks out for her best interests.

Asami isn't sure if she should ask, but when she sees Kya fiddling with the choker around her neck, she has to—"Is that a betrothal necklace? I've heard it's a Water Tribe tradition, but we do rings in the city."

Kya smiles, a little sad, and Asami regrets the question. "It was," she says, running a finger over the curved blue stone in the center. "Betrothal necklaces are a northern thing. This one… well, I'll need a few more whiskeys in me for that story."

Asami doesn't press. They spend the rest of the evening chatting, and before she knows it, she's saying goodbye to the older woman, thanking her for her company.

"Don't mention it, Asami. And hey," she calls. Asami turns back to her. There's a smirk on her lips that hadn't been there before. "Korra's back tomorrow."

She has to turn to hide her blush, but nods and waves as she walks away.

 

* * *

 

She's so used to the correlation between the hotel's bar and that specific pair of blue eyes that seem to invade her thoughts at every waking moment, that when she sees them peering over at her instead from the concierge desk the next evening, she almost doesn't notice who they belong to.

By the time she collects her thoughts, her feet have carried her over to the desk (teak wood and silver again), and she's blurting out the first quip that stumbles into her brain. "Bar tending, room service, concierge… now to me, it just seems excessive to have any _other_ employees when you've got one that can do it all."

Korra shrugs, and the corner of her mouth turns up with her shoulders. "What can I say? I'm good at everything."

Asami swallows thickly, and Korra doesn't seem to notice. There is not one iota of innuendo in that statement, but something about the crooked smile, those sparkling blue eyes, and the little bark of laughter that tumbles out between full lips makes Asami's head spin and her stomach clench in a way she hasn't been able to act upon in much longer than she cares to admit.

It takes a moment, but she's able to respond before things take a turn for awkward. "Everything, hm?" _There's_ the innuendo. But she's only praying that it doesn't sound as nervous as she feels. "How about a tour guide? I'd love to see the city. Although I know you're not a fan of the north."

For the most part, Asami can consider herself quite good at not overstepping boundaries, but with Korra, everything she might have once been good at, she is somehow screwing up.

"I'd love to!" Asami hears before she manages to register that Korra's giving her one of those genuine, ear-to-ear grins again, eyes alight with excitement. She's accepted the offer. Oh, right—right, a response, using words instead of gaping.

_Bravo, Ms. Sato, your million-yuan company is collapsing under the weight of your crippling awkwardness._

"Great!" she all but squeaks, and before she can further dig herself into a hole of embarrassment, Korra's jotting something down on some of the hotel's stationary.

She hands Asami the paper, still smiling like she has no idea that she's making one of the most powerful women in the world weak in the knees. She probably doesn't. "I've got to run after my shift's done, but if you meet me here we can grab a bite to eat. This place has like, the only passable tribe food in this city."

"A whole city," Asami begins, looking down at Korra's sloppy handwriting, "and this is _it?_ "

"Hey, you already know how fond I am of the north. Besides, I bet you've never had sea prune stew, and I haven't found another place that serves it up here."

"Sea prune—"

Korra holds a hand up to stop her. "I know what you're thinking. Don't knock it 'till you try it," she says, and follows it up with a wink, and that's it. Asami's going to collapse in a heap in the middle of the lobby. "It's an acquired taste." 

"How are you so sure I'll like it?"

The look Korra gives her makes her think that they're not just talking about sea prunes. She smiles. "Intuition."

 

* * *

 

"Is this a date?"

In response, Asami chokes on her food.

"I mean, I was just… uh," Korra stutters, and Asami's wiping stew off of her chin (first wine, now this?) and not comprehending anything the other woman is saying because she's still reeling from the question. Together, they have to look insane to the average restaurant-goer. She doesn't look up to check if anyone's staring at them, but she wouldn't be surprised if her and Korra have caught a couple of confused looks. "Never mind. I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything. Yeah." She stuffs half of an arctic hen in her mouth.

It takes a few outrageously awkward seconds, but Asami's wiped the sea prune stew she's gotten all over herself and the table, and she takes a long sip from her glass so she can build up some kind of sentence that won't result in her shoving her foot in her mouth. She looks back up at Korra, and the other woman is chewing on her food, eyes fixated on her glass of water. Her face matches the hot chili sauce that'd come with her hen, and it's that image of Korra, sitting across from her, flustered, embarrassed, all-in-all adorable, that seems to snap Asami out of her daze.

"Would you like this to be a date?"

Korra swallows hard, peers up at Asami without lifting her head. "I, uh…" Her eyes dart around like she's looking for an escape, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before thinking better of whatever she might have wanted to say, and just slumping down in her seat with a groan. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean, but I know you're super busy. I mean, I see you going in and out of the hotel all the time—not that I'm like, _watching_ you or anything, but you probably have like, a boyfriend anyway and you wouldn't want to go on a date with someone like me, someone you've known for like, a couple of days, but—"

"Korra," she says, placing a hand on one of Korra's. It brings back memories of that second night at the bar. She's still just as affected by the feel of Korra's skin against hers, but this time, she's not nearly as nervous. "I don't have a boyfriend, and I haven't in a while," she says and Korra's eyes meet hers. They're uncertain and all Asami wants to do is quell whatever worries she might have. "I'm busy, yes, but that doesn't mean I don't have time for a date with a wonderful woman who I've had an amazing couple of days getting to know."

The uncertainty in her eyes slips away, giving way to a bright expression that makes Asami's heart swell in her chest. "Really?"

She nods and smiles and it turns out that Korra's _hopeful_ look is easily the cutest thing she's ever seen in her entire life. So far, Korra has bested herself in the cuteness department with every subsequent conversation. "As your date, and also as your new friend, I will be paying for everything because you have saved my life several times in the past few days and I haven't been able to properly repay you."

"Saved your—oh what, bringing you back to your room?" She waves her off. "Come on, I told you it was no big deal."

"You also brought me breakfast, and now you're showing me the town. I owe you."

"Spending time with you is more than enough," she says, and it's nonchalant for about half a second before her eyes widen in horror. "Oh, _wow._ Uh, that was too much, wasn't it?"

If there wasn't a table between them, Asami is positive she'd kiss Korra then and there. "No. No, Korra that's… really sweet of you."

"You sure? I've been told that I… come on a little strong."

Asami shakes her head, squeezing Korra's hand. "If by that you mean being a genuinely nice person, then by all means, _continue_."

The laugh she gets is well worth any and all awkwardness. Korra turns her hand so she can squeeze back, and if her heart hadn't been ready to beat right out of her chest, it is now.

They spend an exorbitant amount of time in the restaurant, just talking. Korra makes her laugh so hard she has to sprint to the bathroom in tears, and when she comes back, the look on the other woman's face sends her into another fit of giggles.

"I'm serious!" Korra protests, but Asami can barely hear her over her own laughter, let alone form a proper response. "How was I supposed to know he had vegetable oil all over him? There was like, one of those fog maker machines, and I had a blindfold—Asami, it wasn't my _fault_!"

All her life, Asami's been trained to be the epitome of class. Prim and proper and everything the prep schools and etiquette classes had hammered into her head. Now, all of that has been unceremoniously ejected right out of one of the restaurant's windows because she is howling with laughter, and her ribcage feels like it's going to explode, and she presses her forehead against the table and fists clumps of her hair because she has to manage at least _one_ breath before she ends up dying of oxygen deprivation.

There are worse ways to go.

The rest of the night goes just as well. Asami doesn't even get the chance to recover from Korra's last story and Korra has to all but drag her out of the establishment, because _again_ she's said something that has Asami snorting and hiccuping like a drunk. She's already been drunk around Korra, and this feels much better, but she's sure she _looks_ much worse.

The night air is crisp and cold, and since Korra's already got an arm around her, Asami takes the opportunity to do the same, tugging the other woman close. She might not have consumed a single drop of alcohol, (or whatever the hell she'd drank the first night she'd met Korra) but she feels giddy and light and all this without the threat of vomit, is rather refreshing.

Korra's grip tightens around her, and she doesn't feel the bite of the cold any longer.

"A little chilly?"

" _Freezing,_ " Asami huffs. She watches her breath dissipate in the air. "How do you live here all year round? Also, follow-up question, _why_ do you live here all year round?"

Korra snorts. "Okay, first of all, this isn't even _close_ to cold. Come visit down south and you'll get some real bone-chilling Water Tribe cold."

"I think I'm going to have to pass on that one, sorry."

"Your loss, Ms. Sato. Hey, speaking of, I forgot to ask," she begins, softer than before. "Like, _S_ _atomobile_?"

"If you say it again I'm going to disappear," Asami says, and it earns her a laugh, something she can be proud of since Korra's had her in tears all night. "But yes, very much like Satomobile. I can even give you a little sneak-peak of some upcoming models. If you want."

"What, you have them here?"

"One. The others are in my sketchbook. All conceptual at the moment, but I have a few ideas that are more fleshed out at home."

"That's so _cool,_ Asami," Korra says, and it's so reverent that Asami has to turn and look. Korra's watching her with those deep _deep_ blue eyes, and the it's still freezing outside, but the temperature skyrockets when the other woman squeezes her arm and smiles, wide and open and warm, and Asami has to force herself to stop looking at her lips because _wow_ she wants— "Oh hey. We're back."

Asami preforms the monumental task of tearing her eyes away from Korra to follow her gaze. The Four Elements looms before them, and they're still pressed close, and Asami still feels like she's being heated from the inside out and the filter between her brain and her mouth is broken because she asks, shakily, _stupidly_ : "Do you want to come up?"

And she's wishing she could punch herself in the face, but then Korra's smile softens and her eyes crinkle up around the edges and Asami gets the most relieving "yeah" she's ever received.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. Congrats, this ship has erased any shame I might have had. (It's not _that_ bad.)

The last time they'd been in the penthouse together, it'd been in a vastly different capacity.

Asami had just thrown up. Wonderful, because this time she feels like she's _going_ to.

Korra's admiring the kitchen. She’s checking all of the drawers and cabinets, and if this were her own house, Asami might feel as if her privacy was being invaded. It's not her house, and the offender is quite possibly the most adorable human on the face of the earth, peering out over the kitchen counter in wide-eyed wonder.

"I didn't really notice the view last time," she says, making her way to the wrap-around windows. "Spirits… you can see the whole city!"

Asami wants to answer, wants to walk over to Korra and admire the skyline beside her. She wants to press herself against her and get back to how they'd arrived. She wants to act upon the overwhelming attraction she's felt pushing hard against her skin, she wants to do _something._ But she's just standing by the door, coat still buttoned, shoes still on, frozen. She has no idea how to express what's wrong with her, or why she's so suddenly and completely terrified. 

Korra turns away from the view, and her expression falls. "You okay?"

Asami smiles, but it feels tight and is quite possibly _the_ most fake expression she's ever worn. Korra pads over to her, breathtaking views forgotten, and reaches gently for one of her hands. She gives her ample time to change her mind, doesn’t push, doesn’t demand, but Asami accepts her outstretched hand after a moment. Even now, Korra's touch is electric.

"Hey, I don't—I'm not expecting anything," she says with a soft smile, gripping Asami's clammy hand tight. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No,” she blurts, and figures that Korra deserves more than that. She sighs, and pulls Korra's other hand into hers. "I've somehow managed to screw up every one of the few encounters we've had, yet you're still hanging around.”

"Screwed up? Asami, tonight _alone_ was more fun than I've had in the better half of a year. I hated working at this place until you showed up."

Asami lets out a soft chuckle. "I've only been here a few days, Korra."

“A few of the best days of my life," she affirms. Then after a beat, she winces like she's been kicked in the shin. "That—uhg, sorry. That was awful."

This time, Asami's laugh is much louder. When Korra frowns up at her, bashful and reserved, she just can't help the way her heart swells. The feeling isn’t unwelcome, but it is a little concerning. For now, Asami chooses to ignore it, focusing instead on the pair of blue eyes that worriedly search her face. She pulls her hands away from Korra's, and the other woman looks hurt for all of a second before Asami cups her jaw and smiles.

"You keep apologizing after you've said something sweet."

Maybe she's still anxious, but Korra is too, and they're two grown women fumbling around their words and their actions like teenagers and Asami just doesn't get this in her day to day life. She's been in meetings with professionals for half of it and it feels like some kind of unwarranted nostalgia when she gets to act like this, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

She runs her thumb over Korra's cheek, and the movement seems to make the shorter woman's mouth hang open and eyes droop shut. It’s that look that gives Asami that last little bit of motivation.

"Don't," she finishes her earlier thought, and leans in.

Korra responds immediately, slanting her lips over Asami's, wrapping strong arms around her waist and pulling her in close.

Asami has kissed other women before, yes. But not like this, not like Korra.

She's kissed goodbye after first dates, or a quick peck in the middle of the day. Simple, innocent things, the memory of which has a short shelf life. She doesn't remember many of the occasions. But this—there's direction, there's force, there's meaning. She knows exactly where they're going with this, exactly what she wants. That sizzling attraction now rages under her skin, and she never wants to forget the way this feels.

She feels rather than hears Korra's sharp intake of breath when she presses her tongue against the seam of her lips, asking for entrance Korra immediately gives.

Korra moves her hands so she can grip Asami’s waist tightly, like if she lets go Asami might consider flying off. Asami, however, can't imagine separating herself from the other woman's lips, let alone _flying off_. In contrast to her hold on Asami's waist, Korra's lips are soft and gentle, and it's the realization that Korra's still hesitant, still waiting for Asami's full approval even though _she_ was the one to initiate the kiss, that gives her that final push.

She traces Korra's jaw with her fingers, framing her face between her hands as they kiss, before Asami's lust-addled brain remembers that there's more to explore, more she desperately wants to feel under her fingertips. So she tilts her head to deepen the kiss, craving more of all Korra has to give. When her hands come to rest on Korra's shoulders, Korra pulls away slowly.

For that moment, an icy dagger of fear shoots right through her chest, and she restrains from slapping herself because she's not entirely sure if she's gone too far. But then she's watching as Korra catches her breath, inches from her face, swollen lips parted with the corner of her mouth turned up in an expression Asami has grown to love just in these past few days.

"Are you okay?" Asami asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth with less grace than she's ever spoken with.

Korra nods, and the intensity in her eyes is almost too much for Asami to comprehend.

"I really want to take you to the bedroom," Korra breathes, and her voice is shaky and soft but her eyes are certain and Asami can't help the way her breath hitches. "If you want to?"

Asami knows that if she tries to speak again, the words won't sound right. Her heart pounds against her ribcage when she simply nods, sure of her decision but anxious of what's to come. She's not scared of Korra by any stretch of the imagination. That's not the reason her hands tremble when Korra takes them, walking backwards to the bedroom with a small smile playing on her lips. The other woman has been nothing if not sweet and gentle and kind, and she shivers not entirely with the nervousness that might accompany that first night with a lover, but with just how intensely she's drawn to Korra.

Korra stops them in front of the bed, holding Asami's hands in a firm, reassuring grip, bright blue eyes watching her reactions carefully. Asami must look uncertain or afraid or _something_ , because Korra runs her thumbs over her knuckles, a tender reminder of her earlier statement: _"I'm not expecting anything."_

Asami is sure that if she halted, that if she drew her hands away from Korra's, that the other woman would respond in kind, and that she'd be okay with a simple goodbye. There's no pressure, no insistence now, but Asami doesn't miss the way Korra's eyes wander to her lips and back up to her eyes where she sees her own desire mirrored in blue.

"You're shaking," Korra notes, and it’s nothing more than a careful observation.

"I am," she confirms, because she knows, but she can't seem to stop the way her body is reacting. She scoffs at herself, short and derisive. "I don't know _why._ "

She does, though.

Korra's brow furrows with concern, and she squeezes Asami's fingers. "Are you nervous?"

"I'm—" she stops, takes a steadying breath so she can evaluate the situation. "Yeah. I'm a little nervous."

Korra's just smiling, waiting patiently, still holding on tight to her hands, and it's only when she speaks that whatever walls Asami had been trying and failing to build come crashing down—

"Me too."

She sees every emotion that's bunched up in her chest in Korra's expression, and knowing this, Asami can't help but lean in, capturing Korra's parted lips again.

Korra kisses her desperately, hands reverently cupping her jaw, like she's trying to explain what she's feeling with pliable lips and soft bites and the firm press of her body. It's overwhelming because in the haze of Asami's mind, she recognizes that she's known the woman for less than a week, but she's never felt this kind of attraction before. She's never been kissed like she's the last woman on earth, she's never been held like her partner's life depends on it, and maybe Korra kisses everyone like this, but in this moment, Asami can stand to believe that she's the only one. She wants to be the only one.

Her hands have a mind of their own, running their course from Korra's shoulders to the thick muscles of her biceps where she realizes immediately that there is a warm but obtrusive coat blocking her from smooth skin she wants so badly to touch. Korra seems to realize this as well, and unzips her coat quickly, hands only leaving Asami's face for the short time it takes her to shake the thing off. With the clothing out of her way, Asami doesn't even attempt to fight off the desire to feel Korra's firm arms beneath her palms.

Korra's hands radiate some special kind of heat, moving one from Asami's face so she can gently stroke the sensitive column of her throat, play rough fingers over her exposed collarbone, all the while easily stealing the breath from Asami's lungs with searing kisses that make her heart stutter and her entire body buzz. Asami doesn't even notice that Korra has been slowly unbuttoning her own peacoat until her fingers find the last button, fiddling right above her belt buckle.

There's not enough air, Asami realizes when her coat falls to the floor behind her, and she detaches herself from Korra's lips, albeit reluctantly, in a feeble attempt to catch her breath.

Korra, thank the spirits, isn't deterred by this as Asami pants before her, because she has no intentions of stopping, instead taking the distance to press a well-placed kiss under Asami's jaw. The sensation is immediate, and Asami can feel Korra's warm breath against the overly-sensitive skin of her neck, and she can't stifle the shaky sigh that falls from her lips when Korra drops another soft kiss against the juncture of her neck.

She feels almost weightless, clutching desperately at Korra's shoulder blades and hoping that the other woman's presence will ground her. It doesn't though, because Korra's lips are all along her neck, her jaw, and her hands are running over her back and really, Asami knows that her knees are going to give out, so she tugs Korra forward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. Korra gets the message, lips not leaving Asami's neck as she eases them down on the bed.

There's a moment where they have to part so Asami can scoot back into a more comfortable position, and Korra follows, hovering over her.

"You okay?"

It’s the second time she’s asked, and that thought only further reaffirms how safe she feels with the direction they’re headed. Asami lifts her hands back to Korra's shoulders, and they're still shaking, but now with excitement and desire. She takes a moment to admire Korra's flushed face and darkened eyes before she nods, and she doesn't have time to think of her next words before they're flying out of her mouth.

"I've never been with a woman before."

The statement is stupid and unnecessary, but Korra just smiles that soft, reassuring smile and drops down so she's holding herself on her elbows. She kisses Asami, lazy and slow, in a way that makes her toes curl and her mind cloudy, and when she parts, she rises up so she's straddling Asami's hips. Her fingers undo the buttons of her shirt, and Asami's mouth goes dry at the sight of Korra's now exposed stomach, the valleys and dips of her muscles just begging to be touched.

She won't deny herself the pleasure. She presses her hands against Korra's skin, and the breath the woman above her sucks in when those muscles tighten under her touch is too much to ignore. She surges upwards, eagerly seeking out Korra's lips, and she meets her halfway, presses her back down against the bed with insistent lips and hands that fumble at the hem of her blouse.

When one of Korra's warm hands finds its way under her shirt, and Asami feels it tremble against her stomach, something shifts in the air. She knows that Korra feels it too, because when she arches her back, hoping to press some part of herself to the half-naked woman over her, Korra's hand cups one of her breasts over her bra, and matches Asami's moan as soon as it rips through her throat. It’s the first of many more intimate touches, and it’s Korra’s warm hand kneading her breast, one leg adjusted between her own, that sets her off.

Although it’s really the last thing she wants to do, the amount of clothes between them is ridiculous, and she presses her palms to Korra’s shoulders, pushing gently.

Korra reacts instantly, pulling away. “Do you—“

Asami is more than happy to cut off Korra’s train of thought this time, tugging her blouse off and over her head, bra coming off not soon after.

And really, Asami hasn’t ever been too insecure about her body. Sure, she has some stretch marks and weird-looking freckles in a few places, and there’s a patch of skin above her hip that’s always been discolored, and it’s the thought of all her little imperfections that combines and makes the situation a little uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because Korra is just hovering over her, staring like she’s turned purple or grown another nose.

Asami lies down again, crossing her arms over her breasts in a half-hearted attempt to gain back a little decency. Korra’s gaze is too much now, and Asami turns her head so she can avoid her eyes.

When she does, though, feeling the embarrassment wash over her, she also feels one of Korra’s hands on her face, urging her to turn back.

“Asami,” she murmurs, reverently, and Asami looks, “you’re so _beautiful_.”

“Have you seen _yourself?_ ” she scoffs, but the self-consciousness is fading because she can see how Korra’s eyes darken as she watches her.

Korra doesn’t respond immediately, just catching one of Asami’s wrists where it covers a breast and gently tugging it away, giving Asami the time to react if she chooses. Again, Asami finds herself almost laid bare underneath Korra, but instead of staring this time, Korra dips down, pressing her lips to the underside of Asami’s jaw.

Her mouth trails up and is right beside Asami’s ear when she speaks again, “Can I take your pants off?”

Asami huffs out a laugh, but she’s enjoying just how careful and gentle Korra’s being, how much attention she’s paying to her comfort. “Of course you can.”

And she doesn’t, _immediately_ , which is a little disappointing, but it’s also _not_ because her lips start their descent. A few light kisses along her collarbones, Korra’s short hair tickling sensitive skin, followed by an open-mouthed kiss on the swell of her breast which has her arching, pleading for more contact with fingers tangled in Korra’s hair, hips rocking uselessly against the leg that’s shifted further down on the bed. It’s when Korra’s mouth finds one stiff nipple, lips closing around it, that Asami can’t hold back the moan that had since threatened at the back of her throat.

Korra responds as if she already knows that Asami’s nipples are sensitive—which she can’t possibly, but her teeth tease lightly at the flesh, and Asami doesn’t bother repressing the urge to arch her back, pressing her skin as close as she can into Korra’s lips.

Before she begins her descent, Korra teases the other nipple in the same manner, responding to the breaths that catch in the back of Asami’s throat, the fingers that wind themselves into her hair.

And maybe she _has_ only known the woman who’s sliding her slacks down her legs for a few days. Maybe she should be questioning her sanity when said woman pulls her own pants off. Perhaps the rational part of her mind should be making an appearance when she reopens her eyes, hazy with pleasure, and notes that both her and said gorgeous woman in question are completely naked, and there’s a pair of lips, soft against her inner thigh, and slowly but surely making their way up. Asami _should_ be doing a lot of things. But she realizes, back arching, fingers winding, breath stolen, that she doesn’t _want_ to do anything else but enjoy herself. If only for the night.

She’s watching Korra work through lidded eyes, drawing in breaths every time her tongue finds the right spot—often enough to have her trembling in a manner of minutes—when she catches those deep blue eyes, looking up at her from between her legs. The sight sends liquid heat shooting through every nerve ending in her body, and she can’t tear her eyes away because Korra’s are so intense, so raw that she feels herself winding up like a string, ready to snap.

“ _Korra_ ,” she chokes out, loves the way it falls from her lips as Korra’s fingers tease at her entrance, her other hand kneading at her breast. Asami twines her fingers with the dark ones there, guiding them.

Korra must take her name as an encouragement, which Asami knows she isn’t coherent enough to articulate, but soon she feels a long finger pumping, and then two, and she’s wound so tight all it takes is a firm press of Korra’s tongue and a well-angled crook of her fingers and she’s gone.

Korra coaxes her through her climax, and it’s not at all like the ones she’s used to. It’s long and drawn out, starting low and blossoming out through every single nerve in heavy waves that have her struggling to take in air that her lungs can’t contain. She knows she moans, she knows her back arches and that Korra moves her hand to hold her as still as she can so she can pull every last pulse of hot pleasure from her body.

In the afterglow, breathing labored and buzzing with pleasure, Asami gets to watch as Korra sucks her fingers clean, a sight that sends a final jolt of heat flying through every single one of her nerve endings. She watches with hooded eyes as Korra kisses her way back up, those deep blue eyes never leaving her own.

When Korra kisses her again, it’s soft, a gentle exploration that coaxes a pleasant shiver. She curls an arm around Korra’s back, tracing the powerful, thick muscles like she’s got all the time in the world. For now, she figures that she does. When her touches give rise to a broken moan, exhaled against her neck, Asami knows she needs to give Korra the same pleasure she’d just felt.

As it happens, there’s a spot directly in the center of Korra’s back that, when grazed with fingertips, doesn’t fail to earn a gasp. Asami focuses her attention there, stroking the sensitive spot with one hand while the other traces Korra’s side—an action that makes the woman grip the sheets on either side of Asami’s head. The reactions are wonderful, but Korra’s still holding herself over Asami, every muscle pulled taut as Asami explores her skin. It’s amazing to have Korra over her like this, but with the way she’s trembling, Asami hazards a guess that she won’t be staying up much longer.

“Korra,” she says against the shell of the other woman’s ear. Korra hums a moan in response, fisting the sheets again. Asami finds herself smiling before she continues. “Can you turn over?”

“Wh-what?” Korra breathes, her voice raspy and thick with desire.

Instead of asking again, Asami urges her onto her back, marveling at the way Korra looks, spread out beneath her. She’s watching with lidded eyes, patiently, yes, but her chest rises and falls with hard breaths, still worked up from Asami’s earlier touches. The sight is otherworldly, but it’s not just a sight. She leans back down to capture Korra’s lips, and is lost instantly in the intensity of the kiss.

She can’t be deterred from her journey, though, and she slants herself so she’s lying half on Korra, all smooth skin and hard muscle pressed against her own. She trails a hand down, not breaking the kiss until Korra gasps when fingers find her center.

It’s only when her fingers begin to move that Korra flings her arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer. She watches Korra carefully before ducking down to kiss her neck, ghosting her lips over her jaw and smiling against her pulse point when Korra gasps again and clings to her. She tries different movements, and every few minutes Korra asks her to adjust her pace or her pressure. For a moment Asami worries if she’s doing a good enough job, if she’s holding up to what Korra had been able to do—but then all her worries dissipate as she feels Korra’s entire body go rigid. She bites down on Korra’s earlobe, kisses behind her ear, curls her fingers as the other woman exhales a long moan, her whole body shaking. Asami holds her through it all, whispering breathy assurances against the shell of her ear.

“ _Sprits,_ Asami,” Korra huffs, and after a long beat—“Never been with a woman, huh?”

Asami snorts from where she’s buried herself against Korra’s neck. “Well, it’s only been me on my own. I guess I wasn’t sure how I’d fare with _two_ women in the same bed.”

Korra hums, situating herself so she can wrap both arms around Asami and keep her close. “I’m going to give you… a twelve out of ten.”

“Not a fifteen?” Asami says, propping herself up on an elbow so she can look down at the woman beneath her, watching as a slow smile curls the edges of her lips.

“There’s always room for improvement.”

Asami smirks, but doesn’t miss a beat when she notices Korra’s eyes flit down to her lips, leaning in for one more languid kiss that warms her to the core. When they part, she hesitates to name what she feels, and then sees reflected in Korra’s eyes before she settles against her chest, pressing wonderfully against the length of her body. She’s already falling asleep when she feels Korra’s lips press lightly against her forehead.

It’s not the first time she’s passed out in Korra’s arms, but it’s certainly the nicest.

 

* * *

 

She knows men, has known men. Knows their ins and outs, knows how to ensure that she spends the night with one and knows how to make it, at the very least, memorable. She's a woman, and she knows her own body, and until last night, she'd assumed that knowing her own body would translate well to another woman. It doesn't. It’s… _different_ , it's rough around the edges, like translating from a language you half-know. But Korra is a kind and attentive lover. She's everything Asami had ever dreamed of, everything she'd gotten in fragmented pieces between short-term boyfriends.

She's all that and more.

She's the picture of perfection, laying on her stomach, legs tangled in blankets, smooth, muscled back exposed. The soft morning light illuminates the defined dip of her spine, her shoulders, so strong and toned, she looks like she was carved out of dark marble.

In most instances, Asami figures she might feel like a bit of a creep, leaning against the doorway and watching the sleeping figure of someone she's spent the night with. Not this time. It has to be some kind of blasphemy to stand where she's standing and not take in the woman in her bed.

Korra stirs, and Asami gets to watch as she stretches, catlike, along the length of the bed. Her muscles shift under brown skin, and then there's a pair of sleepy blue eyes watching her.

"What're you doin' over there?" she mumbles, half into the pillow, and shuts her eyes again.

"Admiring," she says, and does just that. "It's not every morning I get to have a gorgeous woman in my bed."

She sees the corner of Korra's mouth turn up. "'Cmere 'n admire. You're too far 'way."

Asami knows she can't deny the request, not when Korra looks _that_ cute. She climbs in next to Korra, and then Korra's wrapped herself around her, bed-warm and comfortable, humming into the hollow of her throat.

"What's this?" Korra asks, tugging at the silk robe Asami had donned after she'd reluctantly pulled herself out of bed earlier.

"A magical artifact I found on the bathroom floor," Asami teases, threading her fingers through the hair at the base of her lover's neck. "I have yet to research its properties."

She feels Korra's words against her skin, and tries to repress a shiver. It doesn't work. "It looks like _clothes_ to me. Nothing magical about _clothes,_ " she grunts, and tugs the rope free from around her waist. The robe is open, and much to Korra's very apparent delight, she's not wearing anything underneath. "There we go—that's magic."

Asami laughs, and it feels so free and happy that she can't ignore the way the laughter wells up in her chest, presses at her ribs. She shirks the robe, turns so she's on her back. Korra props herself up on one elbow and looks down at her.

"Morning," she drawls, and her eyes trail over Asami's naked form with an intensity that lays its foundation in Asami's chest rather than her groin. "Any plans for today, Ms. Sato?"

"Oh yes," Asami begins, raising her hand to Korra's cheek so she can move to tuck a soft strand of hair around her ear. Korra's eyes close at this, and the emotion in her chest swells again with the lazy smile that creeps across her face. She bites her lip for a moment instead, trying to stem the overflow. "I have an itinerary all set up."

"The word 'itinerary' is not in the least bit sexy, Asami."

"Who said I was trying to be sexy?" she teases, but her fingers betray the lilting tone of her voice, gently caressing Korra's jaw. "Maybe I really have an itinerary. I mean, it mostly involves the bed or the shower or maybe the kitchen counter, but…"

Korra's eyes pop open again and she grins. "I take it back. This itinerary sounds awesome."

Asami opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted not by Korra's mouth, but her stomach, grumbling like it's been personally offended. "Uh," Korra tries, her cheeks flushing a ruddy shade of pink.

"Sounds like your stomach doesn't like my itinerary," she says, trying and failing to repress the giggles that well up at the back of her throat.

"My stomach's useless, I don't need to—" It rumbles again. “ _Ugh_.”

The giggles spill out, and Korra flops down, burying her face in her hands and groaning. Asami can't help her laughter, but she takes the opportunity to rub Korra's stomach, which is an excellent idea because the grooves of her muscles feel quite nice.

"Food first," she chuckles. "Then we can work on the itinerary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably going to be one more chapter (that I have to actually _write._ )
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

She’s pouring tea for the two of them when it hits her.

It’s the complementary tea she’d found in a ceramic bowl at the corner of the kitchen, and it’s a surprisingly inexpensive brand for patrons of the Presidential Suite, but Asami’s thoughts have taken a sudden and unwelcome detour from cheap tea.

_There are those botched invoices from Omashu… The new hire in R &D that needs to get up to speed… The preliminary designs for the Z Line that are complete garbage… Oh, and that stack of—_

“I found the iron,” Korra calls from the other room, snapping Asami back to the tea just before her cup overflows. “It’s broken!”

She can’t help the little bark of laughter that slips out between her frown. “What do you need to iron?"

Korra emerges from the hallway, and Asami is pleasantly ( _noticeably_ , she’s sure) surprised to see that the other woman is still naked. Whatever thoughts had intruded her mind before are going, going, _gone_ because sure, she got to admire Korra in the shower earlier, she hasn’t forgotten that. _Now_ , however, sunlight is filtering through the closed blinds and illuminating the dark skin she’d been all _over_ last night (and this morning) and she can’t think of anything else but her—

“—not listening."

Asami blinks, meets Korra’s eyes with sizable effort. “Hm?”

No, she wasn’t listening, and Korra knows it. “I _said_ ,” she singsongs, a self-satisfied smirk creeping across her face. She shakes the shirt and slacks she’s holding out in front of her that Asami had not noticed until that moment. “This is my only uniform and it looks like an old candy wrapper. Then I said that you weren’t listening. And you weren’t.”

Asami rolls her eyes, but it’s just to try to distract from the blush she can feel heating her cheeks. She turns back to the tea to conceal it a little better. “I don’t see why I’m required to be attentive when I’ve got _you_ wandering around the place stark naked.”

“Hey,” Korra says with a shrug and a smile, tossing her clothes over the couch before she makes her way to the kitchen. “No one said I had to wear clothes.”

Asami wants to retort, wants to say something smart, but then Korra’s pressed up against her, strong arms snaking around her middle. She doesn’t say anything, just bites her lip as Korra slips a hand into her robe, caressing the sensitive skin of her stomach. Korra’s already proven herself to be a fast and receptive and _capable_ learner because she ghosts the pad of her thumb over the small patch of skin that made Asami’s breath hitch last night and it happens again as she revels in Korra’s touch.

This time, she remembers to put the tea pot back on the stove before her thoughts follow Korra’s hand down, down, _down_.

“Not tired of me yet?” Korra breathes against her neck, hot and heady and more than enough to make her hiss with pleasure and grab the counter before her knees can buckle underneath her.

There’s something else, though. Something that tugs at the end of Korra’s question, and something that draws a little hesitancy into the hard, slow circles her middle finger has picked up. She recognizes the feeling. She’d felt it creeping into her thoughts for the past few days, and tried her best to keep it at bay.

_Self-doubt._

Last night had been more than enough to erase that for Asami, or at least enough to let it slip quietly away when she’d felt something much softer than lust with Korra’s arms holding her close.

Asami lets her eyes slip closed and leans back against Korra, one hand pawing at a powerful thigh and the other sliding into the soft hair she’d been tangling her fingers in all morning. She gasps when Korra’s hand picks up speed and finds the right rhythm, swallowing a moan so she can try her hand at a coherent sentence.

She doesn’t plan for it, but the few words come out on a choked moan, rising high in her chest and spilling out before she can consider them.

“I could never get tired of you.”

If she hadn’t made it clear how overwhelmingly attracted to Korra she was _before_ , it looks like the statement does it. Korra pulls her closer and her hand loses all hesitancy. Asami can do nothing else but grip her like a lifeline for the embarrassingly short amount of time it takes her to ride that crest of pleasure into a shudder she feels expand under her skin. It leaves her breathless, leaning all of her weight back against Korra as dark hands wander over her torso, now exposed.

“ _Spirits_ ,” Asami huffs, “if you keep doing that I might just have to take you home with me.”

Korra laughs against her neck, and although she’ll play the comment off later over tea and breakfast—she’d meant it. She’d _really_ meant it.

 

* * *

 

It hits her again when she’s scanning her calendar that afternoon.

She’s leaving tomorrow.

The anxieties of work will come rolling in and she’ll have to wade through paperwork and employees and all of the logistical issues her new deal with Varrick is sure to bring. She knows she won’t have time for a reprieve in the garage or the factory floor and she’ll end up giving up sleep for the good of the company.

She does love her job, but she’s also thoroughly enjoyed the trip. The majesty of the Northern Water Tribe, the finality of a deal gone right, and of course, the pair of gorgeous blue eyes she’d lost herself in time and time again.

There’s been a few meetings to wrap things up, but Asami’s halfway done packing her second suitcase when she loses all interest. It’s only been a few hours since her and Korra had gone their separate ways for work, but already she’s itching to have those arms around her again.

“Pathetic, Asami, _really?_ ” she grumbles to herself, padding out to the living area. “Can’t go a few _hours_ without her?”

_What are you going to do when she’s not around?_

The thought slams, unwelcome and unwarranted, against the pending stresses of work, knocking them out of place. She pauses when her feet have carried her to the kitchen, looking out to the view she’d been blown away by those few days before. It’s the same one she’d enjoyed this morning, and the same one that had been the backdrop for the lazy kiss Korra had drawn her into before she left for work.

A view like this is so much more special when you have someone to share it with. She has a lovely one from her office at the top floor of Future Industries Tower, but it’s always been just her, trying to enjoy it alone.

Asami thinks she’d like to kiss Korra against the skyline of Republic City.

It’s an idea she’d love to relish in, but _Korra_ and _Republic City_ are two very separate entities. However separate they are, she has quite a profound fondness for both.

She makes herself some tea, if for no other reason than the distraction. She knows that Korra is out running errands for the hotel and she’d explained that she wouldn’t be back up until late. She’d then apologized, but Asami had found a few nonverbal and rather effective ways of telling her not to worry about it.

Those methods had been for Korra, of course, but Asami couldn’t help but indulge in some of the other woman’s pleasure. She plops down on the couch, ginseng tea in hand, and she lets herself luxuriate on the events of the previous night, and of the past morning.

Unfortunately, the reminder of the way Korra had made her feel is only a distraction for the amount of time it takes for her brain to take a sharp turn off the cliff of anxiety, and she’s reminded again that she’ll only be afforded the luxury of Korra’s touch, her smell, her company for one more night. It stands to reason that she should make the most of things when she sees Korra again, but she hadn’t exactly been able to keep her worries in check the night before.

A few hours is ample time to steel her resolve.

 

* * *

 

A few hours is _not_ ample time to steel her resolve.

The sun has long since set and she’s changed underwear four times, pacing back and forth in her room like a lunatic. All of the suitcases she’d packed are emptied out on the bed, clothes strewn over every flat surface, and she _still_ hasn’t decided what to wear.

When there’s a knock at the door and she’s wearing a pair of lacy blue underwear that does _not_ go with her red lipstick, Asami curses every one of the spirits out to ruin her night. She kicks clothes under the bed, stuffing them in drawers and making the room look like it’s never been lived in in a matter of seconds. She’s pretty proud of herself.

One more pitstop at the door mirror earns her another knock.

“Coming!” she calls, checking once more to make sure that her makeup is flawless. She grabs a bathrobe from the wall hook, and takes a deep breath before opening the door with as much seductive energy as she can muster.

Korra’s standing there with a small collection of wildflowers and a smile that warms her from her chest outward to the tips of her fingers.

“Hey,” Korra says, and Asami loses track of whatever character she’d been planning on putting on. “You look beautiful.”

With that, the rest of her train of thought goes flying out the window, and she’s yanked Korra inside, shut the door, and placed the flowers on the side table in the blink of an eye. Korra looks a little bewildered, but Asami can’t think to do anything other than kiss the look right off her face. It’s just as warm as every other kiss they’ve shared, and the nerves that had invaded all rational thought seem to melt away. Korra’s hands rest easily on her hips, and she’s more than happy to take up tangling her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of the other woman’s neck.

When they part, Asami is pleased to see that Korra’s smile hasn’t faded.

“Missed me much?”

 _Yes._ “Nope,” she lies, giving Korra a peck when she pouts. “I invited Kya up here and didn’t have to think about you once.”

It’s obviously a joke, but Korra’s mouth slams into a frown, and her brow furrows. Confusion, not anger, Asami recognizes immediately. Korra searches her face for a moment. “You—you know Kya?” she asks, incredulous. Asami gets to watch as the realization washes over her face, followed by a grimace. “You _do_ know Kya.”

“ _Very_ well.”

Korra releases the hold on her hips, flinging her hands up in the air and stepping back. Asami misses the contact. “Well I’m sorry, Asami, I’m just not as old—I mean— _experienced_ as she is.”

“Maybe not,” she hums, pulls Korra back into the embrace with no resistance. “But I do seem to like you better.”

The teasing grin is replaced with something sweeter, and she doesn’t miss the way Korra’s eyes wander down to her lips.

“I know I said it already, but you really are beautiful.”

“So are you, Korra,” she says simply.

It’s unfortunate, but this calm moment draws her earlier anxieties out from under the rug. Much to Asami’s dismay, Korra picks up on the shift almost instantly.

“Are you okay?”

She meets Korra’s eyes, so warm and welcoming, and knows it would be more than okay to lay her worries out, but she’s afraid of what’s to come, and what it means for the woman who she’s known for less than a week. _That_ fact sends her for a loop every time it crosses her mind. Looking at Korra now, watching as genuine concern spreads over her features, Asami can easily pretend that she’s known the Water Tribe woman for a lifetime.

Korra’s presence serves to gently press the words she’s holding back instead against her throat, and she’s saying them before she has time to worry.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Korra deflates. The shift is quick, and in the little time she’s known her, Asami has appreciated how Korra wears her heart proudly on her sleeve, her emotions never guarded. This time, however, the crease between her brows makes her own chest hurt, and she wants to reflect that earlier concern right back to Korra, but her thoughts are lost in the same hopeless mire that it seems the other woman’s have fallen prey to.

There’s a beat where Korra’s looking down at the floor, face contorted in thought. Asami wracks her brain for something comforting to say or do, but comes up empty handed. It’s frustrating, and she’s about to comment on that when Korra squeezes her waist and looks back up to meet her eyes.

A smile crawls across her features, warming her face, but Asami notices the same hesitancy from that morning in the way her eyes crease around the edges.

“We should make the most out of tonight then, right?”

It’s small comfort, but it’s also a plea. She could speak to the worry Korra is trying desperately to contain, but those deep blue eyes beg her to forget. To forget that tomorrow is what it is, and to be okay with tonight.

She swallows her own fears.

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Her stomach grumbles.

Asami already knows she’ll be working late again. She thinks about asking her intern to pick up a box of noodles from Narook’s down the street, but some minor issues on the chassis of her new design drag her attention away from hunger for much longer than she cares to admit. When she’s snapped back to reality, her secretary is wishing her a good evening over the intercom.

“Have a pleasant weekend, Bai,” she replies. Then, remembering, “and congratulations on your engagement!”

Bai laughs over the intercom. “Thank you so much Ms. Sato! I hope you have a wonderful weekend as well.”

A click, and Asami is left alone with her thoughts again. When she thinks about it, it’s kind of baffling how little human interaction she gets in her office. Bai will relay messages every hour or so, but if she’s not in meetings, she’s either working in her office or on the factory floor. She gets to do what she loves in either space, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t lonely work.

Leaning back against the hard leather back of her chair, she sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.

It’s in the little moments between the stress of the job that she lets her mind wander back to the tundra. Back to teak wood counters and ivory trim, to Fire Nation baiju from the minibar, ostentatious waterfalls, an older woman with a litany of stories and a lost cause around her neck, the same employees she’s seen across the world, and those strong arms, holding her close at night.

She’d thought, _many_ times in the preceding month, that she’d reach out to the Northern Water Tribe’s branch of the Four Elements. Fear had always won out. She never had.

The nights have been the worst. The ones where she sits up in bed, drinking like she had before, wondering how she feels so empty at the top, remembering something she’d only had a taste of, something she’d been too afraid to ask for. She _hates_ going home alone now. It had been different when there’d been no memories, nothing she could see vividly in her mind’s eye. Different when she hadn’t been kissed like she was the only woman left on earth, like her lover’s life depended on it.

She _hates_ the nights.

That’s why her office is a respite. Maybe not a welcome one, maybe not one she’d prefer, but a respite all the same. She gets to forget up here, gets to distract herself because she knows when she goes to sleep she’ll remember what she had then and she doesn’t have now.

The thought of that last night shines clearly in her memory again. Of how she’d been kissed, been held. Of how, for the first time in her life, she could confidently say that she’d made love.

That’s a hard pill to swallow, and Asami recognizes that fact for the umpteenth time, snapping her eyes open and returning to her work. Her scribbles are angrier now. She erases harder now, but the memories press insistently against her conscious mind.

This has been happening all too often. Sometimes she feels like she’s losing her mind. She thinks about work a lot, but she thinks about _her_ a lot more.

Maybe it’s getting unhealthy. Maybe she needs a different hobby.

_Thinking about Korra is not a hobby._

She starts tapping her pencil against the table then, agitated. The irritation bleeds into her every nerve, and she jumps out of her seat, needing to do something other than _sit_ and _think_. She makes a beeline for the electric kettle, looking through her tea selection like the movement will be distraction enough. It’s not, and it’s _definitely_ not when she realizes that the only tea she’s interested in is the same one she’d made for her and Korra after their first night together.

She scowls at the tea leaves, scowls at the kettle, scowls as she pours her drink, and is still scowling when she sits back down.

She considers adding some of the southern rum she’d picked up earlier in the week at a Water Tribe specialty shop. She’s a glutton for punishment today, so why not? She’s poured more rum than her last bad decision when there’s a heavy knock at the door. For a moment, she’s concerned because it’s past work hours and no one else should be around. However, she doesn’t have the time to respond to the knock because door flies open, and she jolts upright, confused for all of two seconds before—

“Hey,” Korra huffs, chest heaving, eyes wild, very much solid and real and _not_ one of Asami’s dreams. Her next words come out like gunfire, “I was in town and I got a room at the Four Elements down the street and I figured I’d come and see you… uh, if that’s okay.”

Asami doesn’t respond— _kicks_ herself for not being able to, but Korra starts rambling, so she doesn’t have to.

“I kinda had to bribe one of the security guards—they wouldn’t let me up here. I told the, the buff guy in the lobby that I was your… friend? Yeah, friend, I—um, I hope that’s okay!” She huffs at herself like she’s frustrated, fishing around in her pockets. When her hands come back out, she’s holding two wilted wildflowers, just like the ones she’d brought on that last night. “Also these were growing outside and I saw them and I thought you might, uh, might like them because they’re the same ones I got for you before, but now that seems kinda stupid because they’re dead I think.”

Asami feels like she’s out of her body. The woman that had pushed her way into every nook and cranny of Asami’s mind is standing right in front of her, flushed, out of breath, gesturing like she’s swatting at buzzard wasps—she’s not convinced she’s not dreaming. She still doesn’t respond, but it’s now more because she’s enjoying watching Korra fumble around. She’d enjoy watching Korra if she was just standing in silence, but the nervous chatter is endearing in a way that makes her chest feel full. Also, she’s having a wonderful time just getting to drink in Korra’s presence after all this time.

“I know I probably should have called, but I couldn’t find your name in the phonebook. I mean, now that I think about it, someone like you, probably… uh, probably wouldn’t have their number in the phonebook…” she trails off for a second, and Asami opens her mouth to respond, _finally_ , but—“I’ve never been to Republic City! I had some trouble getting around. I was going to ask you, um, if you could be my tour guide?”

She can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth at the memory of her own halfhearted pickup line. She walks around her desk, towards the woman that’s been occupying her thoughts for a month now, the same woman who had barreled headlong into her life with breakfast and smiles and the promise of comfort and care.

“Welcome to Republic City, Korra.”

She smiles, a little uncertain. “Glad to be here.”

Asami can’t bring herself to waste another moment, pulling Korra into an embrace she never plans on leaving. “I’ve missed you.”

Korra relaxes against her, burying her fingers into the fabric of her blouse. “I missed you too,” she says and laughs a little. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I just showed up unannounced like this.”

“Well,” she mumbles into Korra’s neck, breathing in that thoroughly Water Tribe scent she’d been missing. “I’m reacting well.”

She feels rather than hears Korra’s sigh of relief, and the other woman slides her hand up so she can thread her fingers through Asami’s hair, tugging her closer. Asami doesn’t protest, doesn’t want to _move_ , so they don’t for a while, swaying there in the middle of her office as the sun sets over Republic City.

“How long are you here?” Asami asks, hopeful but a little trepidatious.

Korra doesn’t miss a beat. “As long as you want.”

This makes Asami pull away. She keeps Korra close though, holding (enjoying) her biceps as she meets her eyes. And _wow_ she’d forgotten how much she missed Korra’s eyes. She allows herself a moment to admire her before she asks the question on her mind.

“You’re serious?”

Korra nods. “I quit that spirit-forsaken job. Kya and her mom moved back south, and I…”

“You didn’t go back with them.”

She smiles, albeit a little sheepishly. “I wanted to give somewhere else a chance. That, and I guess I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

Asami knows how to take risks. Knows how to make big decisions for her company with more faith than forethought. It’s not something she does often, but Korra isn’t a risk. Korra is a promise, standing right in front of her with a warm smile and an even warmer heart. This woman with whom she’s connected on a level she can’t even begin to comprehend, this woman with whom she doesn’t feel alone. And Korra doesn’t say it, but her eyes speak volumes more than Asami will ever have to hear— _you won’t have to be alone_.

She kisses Korra then, against the skyline of her city, and all those spaces don’t seem so empty anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever finished a multi-chapter fic before, so I'm honestly a little surprised. I can't say I'm too happy with it, but I'm surprised that I did it at _all._
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed, and look out for stuff in the future maybe I guess I don't know.

**Author's Note:**

> I know. 
> 
> It's been a year and a half since I've posted anything. I now legally recognize myself as a disaster.
> 
> This is something I started writing over two years ago and never finished because I had no idea where the hell I was going with it. I still don't know where I'm going with it. That being said, I've got a good chunk written, and I'm posting this in hopes that I'll get through the endless writer's block I've been wading through for the past 18 months. 
> 
> I WANT TO FINISH SOMETHING FOR ONCE.
> 
> (we'll see what happens)
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://bazaarwords.tumblr.com/) too, but I don't do a whole lot on there.


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